A Friend
by words-with-dragons
Summary: Massive HTTYD2 spoilers. / "For a great man has fallen: a warrior. A Chieftain. A father... A friend." A fic focused on the friendship between Gobber the Belch and Stoick the Vast. They shared 50 years of their lives with one another; here are these fifty years. Complies with canon information and canon couples.
1. Stoick Is Boring

A Friend

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><p><em>-Prologue-<em>

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><p>This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen.<p>

His eyes stung as he hobbled across the battlefield of red snow, empty metal traps and bodies of both men and dragons. He had to squint to make out the faint outline of unused arrows; his eyes weren't what they used to be.

He was grateful for the distraction. He wasn't going to cry. Vikings didn't cry.

But maybe, as he brought back the arrows and bows he had scavenged, this could be the one exception. Tears welled in his eyes as he caught sight of Hiccup – poor, poor Hiccup – shaking in Astrid's arms as he lay the weapons on the ground.

Lip quivering, he turned to Valka. Wordlessly, she pursed her lips and nodded. As they approached the body, he focused on her so he wouldn't have to look at it.

Valka. He thought he would never see her again. There were streaks of gray in her hair, and bags under her eyes. Even as she walked like a person, there was something draconic in the way she did it. Twenty years among dragons. She never came home. Left Berk on its own. Left her son. She left…

Once they had reached the body, he forced himself to look at it. The features, still proud, lined with many wrinkles, but not enough. Bags, under closed eyes (so you pretend he was sleeping) from holding the weight of so many people's suffering on his shoulders. From trying to beat an enemy that was seen as unbeatable. And on his chest, his great red beard, burnt at the edges of the braids, from the fire that killed him. _Stoick_.

Together, Gobber and Valka lifted Stoick's massive body onto the ship on a badly made pyre of wood. The ship was in awful condition as well, the sail torn and the deck damaged from the battle. It wasn't the send-off Stoick deserved, but it was the only one they could manage.

As they waited for the ship to be far enough away, Gobber handed out the arrows to the other teens, Valka and the dragon trapper who had joined them (Eret, son of something). Lastly, Gobber came to Hiccup.

He wanted to say something, but what was there to say to a man who had just lost his father? The only parent Hiccup had ever known? Instead, he gently handed Hiccup the arrow, the bow already clutched in his apprentice's other hand, and clapped him on the shoulder with a heavy hand, and an even heavier heart.

Gobber's throat was so dry he felt as though he could barely speak. But the promise, the vow he and Stoick had made so long ago made him force himself to speak.

"May the Valkyries welcome you," Gobber croaked out. "And lead you through Odin's great battle field. May they sing your name with love and fury –" just like he would with the other Berkians, when they sang songs about his friend, once this mess was all over "– so that we might hear it rise from the depths of Valhalla and know that you've taken your rightful place at the table of Kings."

Gobber took a moment to breathe, because it was getting harder to do so now. "For a great man has fallen: A warrior. A chieftain. A father." He drew in a shaky breath. "_A_ _friend_," he managed, his voice breaking slightly.

A tear spilled over, splashing onto his cheek as Hiccup lit the tip of his arrow and fired it. It arched across the gray sky, hitting its mark perfectly. As one, they all did the same. Stoick's ship burned in the distance like a setting sun.

Stoick had gone the way he had always expected to: by dragon, a Night Fury no less. He could scarcely imagine what was running through Hiccup's head right now; _his father killed by his best friend. _No, Gobber corrected, by Drago Bludvist. Toothless was as much as a victim as any of them were in this, if not more so. Valka had stated it clearly: Good dragons under the control of bad people do bad things. Valka.

Slowly, he watched her walk up to console her son. Once again, Hiccup had only one parent.

She had left, yes, and caused Gobber pain, Stoick pain, but Gobber found he couldn't be angry at her. He had grown to love her like a sister, which was only appropriate, because Stoick was– _had _been his brother.

They had even met, as brothers did.

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><p><em>-Chapter One: Stoick Is Boring-<em>

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><p>Axel Belchon was a massive man, as most blacksmiths were. His large blond beard was far larger than Chief Thran's, which only made his small, narrow nose look even smaller. Although he wasn't quite as tall as the Chief, he still had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the Zippleback carving above the doorway of their home, however.<p>

His wife, Ira, was quite the opposite. She had a way with herbs and healing, which was always welcome in their war-torn village. She was shorter than him, and wide, like all the Viking women prided themselves upon, with white-blonde hair. and gentle, plump face, but even the bravest men would have cowered under her glare. Her blue eyes were never as loving as when she looked upon Axel, or her young son, Gobber.

Like all Viking children, Gobber was a large boy. There always seemed shiny crop of blond hair that needed to be washed on the top of his head. Ira did her best to keep it clean, but Gobber was constantly in his father's dusty and dirty workshop, his favourite place in the world.

It was full of weapons like axes and hammers and all sorts of pointy stuff. Vikings came and went and it was fun to watch them. It wasn't so much fun when there were raids, and the sky was full of fire and screaming. But the workshop was safe. (Gobber usually hid under one of the tables for refuge.)

He and his father often spent time here. Axel would fix things, Gobber would watch. Axel would turn around and see Gobber touching something he shouldn't, Gobber would reluctantly leave the object alone, disappointed.

And it was here that Axel scooped his five year old boy onto his massive shoulders. "Where're we goin' daddy?" Gobber asked, pouting.

"To the Chief's house son," Axel replied. He stooped so he wouldn't hit his head on his way out of the house. The battered and half-burnt Zippleback carving (courtesy of the most recent raid) would need to be replaced soon.

"Why?"

Gobber was at that stage where everything had to be explained. Why had become his new favourite word. Axel was grateful that Gobber had just accepted, "Dragons are bad," when he asked why they needed to fight the giant flying lizards.

"Ljufu just had her baby."

Ljufu was only a couple of years younger than Axel, and had been in Ira's dragon training session. The Chief's wife was a stubborn, brave woman who had come to the Forge to get her spear sharpened many times over the years. And after almost a year of marriage, it looked like she had finally produced an heir.

Villagers from the houses around them were all making their way out as well, obviously eager to see the new baby. Even the old woman known as Gothi was out, and Gobber had only ever seen her once, at Chief Thran and Ljufu's wedding less than a year ago.

Gobber didn't see why such a fuss was being made. _He _didn't get all this attention when he was a baby. Neither did Nutt Thorston, who had been born just three weeks ago. Why was this baby so special? Because it was the Chief's kid? That didn't seem so special, or fair.

The walk to Chief Thran's house took almost no time at all. A crowd was already surrounding it. Vikings were talking to each other in excited whispers.

"Wonder if it'll be a boy –"  
>"Place yer bets here folks –"<br>"Five coins fer a girl!"

As Ljufu's Healer and midwife, Ira, stepped out, a hush fell over them. Gothi hobbled up over to Gobber's mother with a cane clasped in one old wrinkly and tattooed hand.

"The baby is fourteen pounds and healthy!" Ira announced. The crowd cheered; a big baby, even by Viking standards, healthy and strong, a good heir. As Ira drew in breath for her next words, the Vikings' noise died down again.

"And the baby –" the crowd held their breath, a few looking hopefully at their money pouches – "is a boy!"

The crowd erupted into cheers. A few Vikings grumbled ("Five coins lost,") but none of them could be too disappointed. This was a happy day. A future was secure, this baby boy would definitely live until adulthood, and the celebrations at the Hall were another cause to yell happily.

Gobber frowned, unused to all the noise. This was loud, even for Vikings. "Why's the baby so important daddy?"

It took his dad a moment to answer. Axel was trying to weave through the crowd to get to the Chief's house, more specifically to get to his wife. Unfortunately, the crowd was moving in the opposite direction.

"Hmm? Oh, it's because he'll be the leader of us son, one day. He'll be our Chief, and we'll be his people. He'll guide us, and protect us."

"He's the next Chief?"

"That he is, Gobber."

"Oh."

With a little more pushing, Axel finally emerged from the herd of Vikings and walked over to his wife. When he reached her, he took her hand and brought it up gently to his lips. Ira smiled widely at him.

"The baby's alright love?" Axel asked. He let go of Ira's hand to take Gobber off of his shoulders.

"Perfectly fine," she answered happily. "And how's my little boy?" She ruffled Gobber's hair. "Looks like you need a bath." If the dirt on his hands and cheeks were any indication.

"I don't need a bath," Gobber said, moving out of her reach. "And anyway, can we go see the Chief's new baby?"

"I'm afraid not, darling. We have to wait a little while. Now come on, let's go have lunch, and then you'll have your bath." Ira hefted her boy into her arms, Gobber still squirming. The five year old opened his mouth as if to protest, but Ira's long fingers reached towards his belly and tickled him. He dissolved into giggles, his parents chuckling alongside him.

Once Gobber had quieted down, he asked, "How long is a little while?"

"A couple of weeks darling," Ira said. "Don't you worry, they'll fly by. And if you behave during your bath, I'll make your favourite turnip soup." That got the little boy's attention.

"Alright mommy," Gobber relented.

– o –

Three weeks went by quickly. Gobber played Dragons and Vikings with the other kids (him, proudly, on the Viking team) and had two more baths because he fell into mud after a rain. Dragons raided the town (and that was sort of scary) and the Zippleback carving was replaced. Gobber hung out with his daddy in the workshop and mommy had to fix a hole in his pants. More or less, Gobber went about his normal, every day five-year old business.

Until one morning, things were different.

"I have to go darling," Ira said briskly, as soon as she had served them breakfast. "Gothi wants me there before they bring the baby out."

"We're getting to see the Chief's new baby today?" Gobber said excitedly. Finally, he would get to see the person behind all the buzz in the village.

"Aye," his mother confirmed. "Little tyke's being doing well, hardly ever cries. Guess that's the reason Gothi called him Stoick." As far as she knew, the name didn't run in either of the families.

"Ljufu must be feelin' blessed," Axel said happily. Ira nodded. "We'll come over soon, love." His wife placed a quick kiss to his lips before slipping out the door. "Now Gobber, why don't ya say we pass some time in the workshop?"

As always, time in the workshop went by far too quickly for Gobber's liking, even if he did want to see baby Stoick. But the new heir to the tribe did make him wonder something. "Daddy, where do babies come from?"

Axel turned around from his work bench slowly, trying to hide the mortified look on his face. Gods, he and Ira had been hoping to have a couple more years before that question popped up. "Gobber, do ya want to go see baby Stoick now? And then we can come back here." He quickly helped his son up onto his feet, and holding Gobber's little hand, bolted from the workshop.

A smaller group of Vikings had gathered outside the house, and with ease Axel managed to push his way to the front. Gothi was there, along with Ira. Chief Thran - a monstrous man with a big black beard and large nose - was standing next to his wife, Ljufu, who was nearly as large as her husband, with long braids of red hair and sharp eyes. Cradled in Ljufu's arms was a little pink, wrinkly baby.

"That's Stoick," Axel whispered, finally letting go of Gobber's hand.

Gobber looked back at the baby, thoroughly unimpressed. _That_'s what all the fuss was about? The baby couldn't kill dragons, or do anything special. In fact, Stoick was asleep at the moment. Gobber let out a sigh; future Chief or not, Stoick was decidedly boring.

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><p><strong>This all started because shortly after seeing the sequel a couple more times, I started feeling emotional. Because on the official HTTYD site, it states that Gobber is five years older than Stoick. And it got me thinking about how Gobber would've known Stoick from his very first day to Stoick's very last day. They shared fifty years of their lives together. And that is what this fic is focused on: their friendship.<strong>

**It's one of my favourites in HTTYD and a fic about them from me has been long overdue. So, if you're willing to just make it more painful for the next time you see HTTYD2, come along for the ride we're going to go on. **

**And feel free to leave your thoughts in the box below. :)**


	2. Stoick Gets Scars

A Friend

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><p><em>-Stoick Gets Scars-<em>

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><p>In the next few years, Gobber didn't pay much attention to Chief Thran's son. While Gobber started an apprenticeship at the Forge with his dad at eight, and learnt how to use and make weapons, Stoick was learning how to walk and talk. Besides,who would be interested in what a toddler was doing? Gobber's first impression hadn't changed all that much: as a baby, or toddler, Stoick was undeniably boring. (Although there was one instance where Stoick, just two years old and having just discovered the joy of running, had streaked through the village butt-naked. Seeing Chief Thran and Ljufu chase after him had been hilarious.)<p>

Until one afternoon.

It had rained the night before, leaving the grass damp and the leaves ready to shake droplets on the Vikings below whenever the wind blew. And like any brave ten year old Viking, Gobber knew it was perfect troll hunting weather. Unfortunately, by this point, his peers either didn't believe in trolls ("Have you ever even seen one?") or were busy being trained by their parents.

Gobber would have been too, if not for the fact that Axel was working at the Forge, repairing weapons that had been ruined in the most recent raid. He wasn't bitter, or anything; he understood that his dad had an important, demanding job. The village depended on him. And one day, when Gobber moved from being an apprentice to an official blacksmith, the village would depend on him too. Still, it sort of sucked.

Sighing to himself, Gobber cast a gloomy look around the main street. A few women were buying things from a nearby stall, but that was about it. Ljufu, was one of those women, and clutching her hand was Stoick, with his bright and messy gingery hair, and as big as a Viking child should be. Briefly, Gobber wondered if he had been big like that when he was little, before an idea entered his mind.

He walked over to Ljufu and promptly tapped her on the shoulder. "Chieftess Ljufu," he said boldly, using her official title like his parents had instructed. "Would it be alright if Stoick played with me this afternoon?"

Ljufu looked down at her son, her long braids of red hair swinging slightly from side to side. "Stoick, do you wan to play with Gobber?" Green eyes shining - a big kid wanted to play with _him_? - Stoick nodded eagerly. Neither Gobber or another older kid had ever wanted to play with him before. Ljufu smiled gently. "Alright then, go along. I want you boys back at the Hall before sunset understand?"

Both boys nodded, Stoick letting go of his mother's hand. "Yes mom." They ran off, Gobber grinning widely.

Once they had left the main road, Stoick turned to Gobber. "So what are we doing?" he asked excitedly.

"Troll hunting. They love the rain so it's perfect hunting weather," Gobber explained. The look of admiration that crossed Stoick's face gave him a rush of importance.

"Is it dangerous?" Stoick said softly.

"Oh yeah," Gobber confirmed, waving his hands around. "But I'm a big strong Viking. And like any Viking hero, very modest. We'll be fine." He smiled cheekily at Stoick, who was pouting at not being included as a Viking hero.

"I'm big and strong too, see -" Stoick held up his fringe to reveal a fairly fresh cut that was healing, "I got that from splitting a rock with my head. I can handle anything."

Gobber stifled a snort. "Why'd you split a rock with your head?"

"My dad told me so. I thought he was crazy but then it worked. And showed that Vikings are the bravest, toughest people around!" Stoick grinned at him. "And he said I have to be brave and tough, 'cause one day I'll be Chief."

"One day, yeah, but that's a long way off," Gobber said slowly. "Don't count your Zippleback heads till you've sliced them."

"What does that mean?" Stoick said curiously.

"Just something my mom says sometimes. Now, we gotta be quiet or we'll scare off the trolls. I want my left socks back from them," Gobber said, crouching on the ground up against a boulder and gesturing for Stoick to do the same. Hesitantly, the little boy got into position. He peeked over the boulder, hearing some gentle rustling. It sounded too small to be a full grown troll - maybe it was a baby?

"They take only left socks? What's with that?"

"Shh! I can here one now, so be quiet..." The rustling was getting louder, but he didn't dare look over the boulder again. "Alright, here's the plan."

He handed Stoick a large rock and took one for himself. Everyone knew that trolls hated rocks most of all. That's what Trader Drek had said, anyway, when selling him 'The Complete Guide to Trolls' the last time his ship had docked at Berk. Gobber hadn't read of all of it - too boring - but most of it.

"On the count of three," Gobber continued, "we run out together to attack the troll. You go on your right, I take the left, alright?" Stoick nodded, determined, clutching his rock tightly. "Alright, one - two -" Gobber hefted his rock and prepared to get up, "-three!"

He sprang up from behind the boulder and charged at the rustling, seeing Stoick on the other side of him out of the corner of his eye. The troll shot out from the grass and onto the boulder; it must have been tinier and faster than he had thought. The two boys whirled around, Gobber ready to hammer his rock into the troll's skull...

Only, it wasn't a troll sitting on the rock... it was a Terrible Terror, and it reached its tongue up and licked its eyeball, looking at them angrily.

Gobber felt a surge of disappointment; now he would never be able to prove that trolls were real, but if they killed the dragon, that would be almost as good. He ran forwards and threw his rock at the dragon. It missed by a mile and a small, fierce projectile of flame came from the tiny dragon's mouth.

Gobber rolled to the side to avoid it and was congratulating himself on his success when there was a yelp of pain: Stoick hadn't been so lucky. There was a red shiny patch blossoming on the boy's lower arm. Gobber cast a glare at the Terrible Terror, who simply flew away looking very satisfied with itself, the bloody beast, and quickly made his way over to Stoick.

The redhead was doing his best not to cry. Vikings didn't cry, everyone knew that.

"We should go back to the village," Gobber told him, in a tone far softer than he had ever used around the boy. "My mom's real good at treating stuff like that, don't you worry."

Stoick sniffled particularly loudly, but nodded and said, "Okay." He clutched his arm to his chest, but after a few moments seemed to think of something. "At least I'll get a cool scar out of it."

Gobber chuckled. "That's the spirit... It, uh, looks like you're as big and strong as I am." He had to admit he wasn't sure he would be able to hold back tears if he got burned; getting a small burn at the Forge was bad enough.

Stoick's face glowed at the praise and he grinned, showing a couple of missing teeth. "Thanks Gobber." The older Viking lightly socked the boy on the shoulder.

"Yeah, whatever. Just don't tell anyone I said that." Like it or not, he couldn't deny the little guy was growing on him.

- o -

Their parents weren't very pleased, as you can imagine. After treating and bandaging Stoick's burn, Ira brought the kids into a room where they had a good sit down with their respective parents. Both couples had agreed that while they were still allowed to play with each other, they weren't allowed to go into the woods again without supervision, nor were they allowed to hunt for trolls again.

Privately, Gobber thought it was probably for the best. And a few weeks later, when Stoick showed off his new scar to the other kids, he had to admit, it did looking pretty cool. And as Chief Thran ruffled his son's hair and leaned in close to say, "Faced the enemy head on, eh son?" and winked, causing Stoick to smile, he thought that Stoick also had a pretty cool dad.

Not that he would ever tell anyone that, least of all Stoick, of course.

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><p>- o -<p>

During raids, there was always a home chosen as a safehouse. Normally, like it was tonight, it was Gobber's house. Not only were the nearby medical supplies helpful if an injured child needed help after running from their burning home, but the house was out of the way enough that it was the least burned down house on Berk.

Still a year away from entering dragon training at fourteen years old, Gobber watched as some parents herded their children inside his home. Ira welcomed them all - some came every time, their houses always in the middle of all the fighting.

"Gobber, would you go get the board games?" she asked, closing the door behind her as a mother and father ran out with their axes. Sighing (why did _he _have to get the board games?) Gobber went and got them from the trunk on the top shelf above their kitchen cupboard. There were only a few games inside - thin, brittle cards, chunky blocks of wood for building little towers, and small puzzles - but soon enough it had all the younger kids entertained.

Until there was a bone-chilling roar overhead and the roof creaked - a dragon was roosting. Gods no... Ira grabbed her spear as Gobber held his breath. The kids stopped playing, looking around fearfully and Nutt Thorston held the hands of his twin younger sisters. Slowly, Gobber made his way to go grab his own ax that was on his bedside table... If the roof broke through, he was going to fight.

But he didn't need to; just as he had grabbed the handle of his ax, the scraping sound of dragon claws on roof shingles sounded, a great flapping of wings, and a loud squawk. (A Deadly Nadder, maybe? It sounded like the roar described in the Dragon Manual.) A few tense moments passed before Ira let go of her spear and announced, "The dragon is gone."

A sigh of relief went through the crowd. The three Thorston siblings all punched each other and everything went back to normal, thankfully. At least until Ljufu opened the door and ushered an eight year old Stoick inside the house.

"House - fire - Thran - Nightmare -" Ljufu managed out. "Stoick, stay inside and stay safe." A look of determination came into her eyes, she kissed the top of her son's head and charged out the door, a bola-net clutched in her hands.

Stoick didn't often come to the safehouse, although his parents always participated in every raid unless they were temporarily out of it due to injuries. Gobber watched the younger boy with interest. He looked very different than he had when he was five. His gingery hair was pulled back into a small braid, for one; he was taller, although at least two heads shorter than Gobber, and had bandages wrapped around his lower arms, hiding his old scar from the Terrible Terror. (The story of getting it wasn't quite so impressive now that everyone was older.) His tunic was a bright green that matched his eyes.

"Hey," Gobber grunted, as Stoick passed the rest of the children and took a chair next to him. Soon after their troll adventure, both had been often too busy to play with one another. Gobber took on more responsibilities at the Forge, as well as working on improving his weapons training. Stoick, meanwhile, was just starting it, and was also already being groomed as Chief, even if the younger boy didn't realize it.

"Hey," Stoick returned. "So... you're starting dragon training right this fall right?"

Gobber nodded. "Can't wait for it." They didn't say much after that. Gobber wasn't in the mood for much conversation - something about being a 'moody teenager' (his mother's words) - and Stoick seemed to sense it and tactfully kept his mouth shut.

As the raid finished in the wee hours, parents came to collect their kids that had stayed at the house. This raid had been a lucky one, seeing as for the most part, there had been only minor injuries and hardly any sheep had been taken, Sol the Savage, a farmer, and Axel had reported. Or at least that's what Gobber had agreed on - it was lucky - until Ljufu walked in alone.

There was blood and grime on her face, but there were small tear stains on her cheeks. "Come on Stoick," she said. Her voice cracked and Gobber's heart sank... Had something bad happened to Chief Thran? Was he dead? She took Stoick's hand - the little guy looked scared and confused - and led them out of the house.

Gobber watched them go and exchanged a nervous look with his mother. Ira pursed her lips, put a hand on his shoulder, gave it a squeeze and laced her fingers through Axel's.

- o -

Later on the morning, although still before midday, the whole village gathered together in the Meade Hall. Ljufu - Chieftess Ljufu, now - announced at her husband had been killed by a Monstrous Nightmare. Gothi initiated her as the new Chief, with Stoick standing nearby, looking like he was doing his best not to cry.

Gobber, despite how heavy his heart seemed to feel and how much his eyes stung (_Vikings don't cry_) couldn't help but be impressed that both Haddocks were holding it together. Or not notice how Stoick seemed to be repeating words to himself as Chieftess Ljufu continued on with her speech. It took a while, but eventually Gobber could make out what the younger boy was saying: _A Chief feels no pain. A Chief feels no pain._

"As I take my husband's burden -" Gobber's stupor was broken, and his eyes snapped to Chieftess Ljufu, "-I promise that I will uphold his leadership and bravery, and that one day, we will defeat the dragons once and for all!"

The crowd cheered and Gobber mustered up a halfhearted yell, which died in his throat as he saw Stoick wipe his eyes. There was no reason anybody needed to know that either.

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><p><strong>AN: I figure line-breaks will be used when there's a significant time-skip. Hopefully the next update will come sooner, and will span through Gobber's dragon training and Stoick's.**

**Also, Constantinus, I initially took it because it resembled the word iron (and that's used in blacksmithing and stuff) and added the 'a' because most female names tend to end in 'a'. I never knew it was predominantly a male name, though, that's cool, and it's really cool how you have family with the name. :)  
><strong>

****Thank you everyone for your reviews, favourites and follows, they mean a lot. I hope you all have a great day.****

****PS: Also, I'm going with the assumption that a Chief's wife, if the heir was too young or there were no heirs at all, would inherit Chiefdom, with only a few exceptions (Ex: Valka). ****


	3. Gobber Is Excited

A Friend

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><p><em>-Gobber Is Excited-<em>

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><p>The day a Viking was finally allowed in Dragon Training was a pivotal moment in their lives, so it was almost needless to say that Gobber, a thick wide teenager of fifteen, was excited, his ax clutched in one hand and images of him killing the Nightmare nursing his ego. He glanced down at his peers.<p>

There was Helga Hofferson, who looked almost just like her younger sister Hilda Hofferson. They had the same round face and braided blonde hair, but whereas Hilda was slimmer, Helga was in the opposite direction. Tall, wide, with bulging muscles, Gobber knew that with her prized ax known as the Maimer, she would be tough competition.

The two Ingerman boys, only a year apart, could be described as lumps of people. Their whole body shape seemed to be an oval, and the only way Gobber could tell them apart was the fact Hringr had brown eyes, and Bjarg had blue.

Sol the Savage's daughter was here, Ingrid. She was exceptionally tall, with a huge nose, coated in freckles and long dark hair pulled into various braids. A dented helmet sat lopsided on her head while she tightly clutched the hilt of her hammer.

Last but not least, there was Fotr Burlu, a barrel-chested boy with chicken legs and dark hair. The most striking thing of his appearance, however, were his huge feet. There was a rumour that his boots had taken two cow hides to make, and Gobber had to stifle a snicker at the sight of them. Really, those feet were _ridiculous. _

Gobber's attention snapped as their instructor cleared her throat. Kenna was a large Viking woman, with sharp features and an even sharper hook for a hand. A long scar ran across one side of her face, and Gobber could spy many more crisscrossing along her arms.

"You are here to fight dragons," she announced, as if it weren't obvious, but the way she leered at them - daring them to cross or challenge her - was so intimidating it kept the class quiet. "This is not a game. This is your only experience before you charge out to war. So budge up you great lumps, and get ready for your skivvies to be soiled."

As the Deadly Nadder erupted from its charge with a loud squawk and Gobber looked around frantically for a shield ("_Always _choose a shield over a weapon you munge-buckets!") he realized that maybe Dragon Training was more dangerous than exciting.

- o -

Gobber soon learned that although you could say whatever you liked about Kenna the Cruel, you couldn't say she wasn't a good teacher, even if her methods were... eccentric, at times, they got the lessons jammed permanently in their heads.

Although Gobber really wished that, as he spotted Chieftess Ljufu watching his lesson with the rest of the spectators, that his class wasn't handling the Zippleback for the first time today in front of the Chieftess. The green gas filled the arena and Gobber recoiled at the awful smell, rotten eggs mixed with something else.

"A wet dragon head can't light its fire, so throw your water onto the right head and you'll survive!" Kenna screamed at them. Which was unnecessary, really, since they weren't all that far away from her at all (she was just watching them from outside of the Ring) and had watched them all read the Book of Dragons aloud as a group.

Gobber found himself back to back with Fotr Burlu, the only slightly smaller teen clutching his bucket tightly. The Zippleback fog had already isolated them from the other teens, and from properly seeing the blasted dragon in the first place.

The arena was clouded with fog, and as Gobber clutched his bucket tightly, hoping his fear wasn't showing on his face - Vikings didn't get scared - he found himself back to back with Helga Hofferson. As strange as it was, seeing Maimer clutched in his hand, he actually felt a little safer. "Scared, Belch?" Helga asked, smiling slightly.

"As if, Hofferson," Gobber retorted. He glanced upwards, seeing Chieftess Ljufu, as well as Stoick, standing beside her. The boy was getting bigger and looking more like his late father every day. Also standing next to Chieftess Ljufu, was Sicklout Jorgenson, tall with dark hair. Stoick looked positively miserable next to the man, although Gobber couldn't understand why.

"Pay attention you idiots!" Kenna roared, breaking him out of his stupor with a start.

Gobber's attention snapped back to the training lesson. One Zippleback head was curving towards him and Helga, sparks crackling to life in its maw. Gobber hurled his bucket of water at it. Confused and disorientated the dragon let its guard down; Helga moved in with her spear and bashed it over the head. They both looked up to their mentor (if you could call her that) for approval.

Kenna didn't frown. "Work hard and maybe you'll be decent," she said begrudgingly. It was the closest they had ever heard her say something that was not as mean as usual, and Gobber and Helga grinned.

"Not half bad, Belch," the blonde said.

"Not half bad yourself, Hofferson," Gobber said.

- o -

In the end, Helga Hofferson was the one who got the honour of killing the Monstrous Nightmare, and although Gobber had envisioned himself there, winning the glory, he wasn't upset. The Viking girl had worked harder than any of them, and deserved it. Gothi, the elder, had chosen between her and Fotr, when the two had faced the Nadder again and Helga had killed it. She killed the Nightmare with relative ease and hung both of the dragons' heads up in her house for all to see. The village celebrated.

A couple of months later, there was an even bigger celebration, when Chieftess Ljufu married Sicklout Jorgenson, and took him as her second husband. Gobber finally had understood why Stoick had looked upset, but it appeared the younger boy had gotten over it, and seemed to be pretty happy during the ceremony.

Now a graduate of Dragon Training, Gobber was still waiting for his chance to fight during a raid. The winter months had come, and the raids barely happened in the winter, especially around Snoggletog. Spring, hopefully, would bring that chance.

"Hey Gobber."

Pulling himself away from the festivities, the young blacksmith turned to Stoick. "Hey yourself," he replied, taking a swig of his ale. While most Vikings preferred beer, Gobber had always had a fondness for ale. "How're you?"

"I'm fine," Stoick said, puffing out his chest. The kid was already almost as tall as Gobber, although Gobber did suppose that the kid was starting his own Dragon Training sessions in the next three years, maybe sooner. Stoick was already better with an ax as Vikings twice his age, Gobber included. But Gobber knew a lie when he saw one.

"Are you sure?" he asked, ignoring how awkward he felt. Vikings weren't very good with words or touchy-feely things. They were tough; most of the time. "'Cause it's not like your mom or Sicklout is trying to replace your dad or anything. They're just... moving on." Gods, was he bad at this stuff.

Stoick's features hardened and Gobber thought the Viking was going to lash out at him, but then his features softened and a tiny smile appeared on his face. "I knew that, I'm not stupid."

"Are you sure lad?" Gobber teased. Stoick punched him on the shoulder, both boys grinning.

"Shut it Belch. And don't call me lad."

- o -

The ax made a dull clunk sound as it was dropped on the counter. "You need it sharpened _again_?" Gobber asked, not even bothering to turn around to face the young heir. "That's the second time this week!"

"I've been busy," Stoick shrugged. "Dragon Training's only a year away. Besides, it's not like I have anything better to do. Mom and Sicklout are off at the Vagmirs - their baby came, little girl named Valka."

"Fine," Gobber groaned, and grabbed the ax to the wheel to sharpen it. "Nervous about Dragon Training?"

"No," Stoick said instantly. The eighteen year old paused in his work to raise an eyebrow. "Well, sorta. But don't you dare tell anyone!"

"Cross my heart and hope to die in battle," Gobber promised. "Just a warning, though, being out there in battle's a lot different than training. In training if you mess up Kenna's there to save your sorry ass if she needs to. Battle..." he gave a slight chuckle, remembering his first battle. He had helped men net Nadders. One almost took his arm off, he almost didn't move in time. Just a second too late and... "Battle's unpredictable," Gobber said at last, flexing the arm he'd almost lost. The youngest amputee on Berk in history had been seventeen; he would've broken the record.

"We're Vikings," Stoick said simply, "it's an occupational hazard."

Gobber grinned toothily. "Aye lad."

"Don't call me lad, I'm not that young. Besides, chances are we'll both be going on our first Nest expedition together anyhow."

"Think so?"

Stoick nodded. "Mom's got one planned after winter's over."

"That's still over half a year off lad," Gobber said, finally pulling the ax off the sharpening and handing it back to the younger teenager, who was frowning. "Tell ya what, I'll stop calling ya lad if you grow facial hair before I do. Deal?" He stuck out his hand.

"Deal," Stoick agreed, shaking his hand. "Ale-drinker," he added, snickering.

Gobber placed a hand to his heart, mock-offended. "I can still drink you under the table."

"Is that a challenge?" Stoick grinned.

"Yeah, just..." Gobber lowered his voice. "Don't tell your mom."

"Already done."

- o -

That was the beginning, really, their friendship being born of bets, impatience, cheekiness and lots of alcohol. When Gobber could take the day off, as Axel started to rely more and more on him, he made a point to go to the Dragon Training lessons to watch Stoick, who dominated every time. Neither Chieftess Ljufu nor Sicklout were present - which made sense as the Chieftess had recently given birth to another son, Spitelout. Still, Gobber was sure the absence of Stoick's parents grated on the boy.

He couldn't feel too sorry for the lad- _Viking, _seeing as at only fourteen Stoick had a much better mustache than Gobber. (Stupid facial hair.)

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry you've had to wait so long for the chapter, especially since this one's a little shorter than usual. However, I felt this was a good place to end. As most of you probably know, I have the habit of having too many projects going at once (and LOK-fandomness totally came out of nowhere this summer). I hope to be updating more regularly, though. :)<strong>

**Thank you for your reviews, favourites and follows. Lemme know what you thought of this below! :)**


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